Infinite Arms
by Janieshi
Summary: "Her father is dead, her best friend (and first love) has gone away, probably for good this time…and she's never felt less lion-hearted in her life. " Riza-centric, an exploration of our favorite Lieutenant's relationship to her weapons. Rated T to be on the safe side. Guns are not toys, children! Royai hints here and there because that's just what I do ;)
1. Infinite Arms

**Infinite Arms**

* * *

For the first time in her life, Riza Hawkeye was sorry to see one of her father's students go.

Normally, she relished the moment. It meant that she was free again. It meant that she could roam her own hallways at any hour of the day or night, openly, without worrying about unwanted flirtation or being bullied. She could sit and read for hours in the same place without fear of being found out or interrupted. She could relax. She could breathe.

But he had been different. He had been the only 'apprentice' who'd even bothered learning her first name. He'd been the only one to look at her and really _see_ her. He'd been the only one who treated her as an equal rather than a servant, as a person rather than a tool, as a friend rather than a means to an end. In fact, Roy Mustang had been her first real friend.

Small wonder, then, that the silence of the old house was more oppressive than peaceful once he'd gone. Even her father was quieter than usual. Riza knew that he felt it too—the loneliness and regret seeping into their bones right along with the damp of the grey autumn fog.

So it didn't startle her as much as it might have when he reached out and gently took hold of her wrist one morning, although she did spill the cup of tea she'd been carrying to him. For a moment, he just stared at her, his light blue eyes flicking rapidly across her face, her slender frame, and her earnest brown eyes, while the tea stain seeped slowly through the papers on his desk. And then he frowned.

His daughter, he realized, was becoming a beautiful young woman.

"Go upstairs and change into some old clothes, child," he told her. "I'll wait for you behind the house, at the edge of the wheat field."

"Yes, father," she replied demurely. It didn't occur to her to question his order, much less refuse. Although she did wonder what she'd done; why the mere sight of her upset him so.

Five minutes later, she wove her way through her beloved garden to join her father. He stood with his back to her, motionless in the dappled shade of the trees that bordered his once-extensive fields. Most of them had been sold off, now.

"I won't be around forever," he said as she approached, without even turning his head. "You will have to fend for yourself when I am gone. Protect yourself and your home from any external threat."

"I understand," she said softly, even as her heart gave a painful throb in her breast.

"Do you?" He turned his piercing gaze on her at last, revealing an unexpected whirlpool of anxiety and fear in his deep-set eyes, so like and yet unlike her own.

Riza didn't know how to respond, so she held her tongue, a slight frown of confusion on her gentle face. After a moment, her father sighed.

"Never mind, child. You are going to learn how to defend yourself. I will teach you." He bent down to retrieve a box resting near his feet. Riza was astonished at the array of handguns and ammunition inside.

"Are you saying…" the words died in her throat as her father calmly selected one of the guns.

"We'll start with something simple. This is a .38 revolver," he stated, placing the unloaded gun in her hands as he spoke. "This is called the chamber. It holds six rounds." Without further preamble, he launched into a detailed explanation of the mechanics of the weapon.

Berthold showed his daughter how to load the rounds, how to expel the empty brass shells once they had all been fired, how to cock and pull the trigger, and how to release the cocked trigger without firing. He explained what was meant by single action and double action, and how her accuracy and aim would be impacted by each. He even smiled faintly when she fumbled the chamber open for the first time by herself, nervous but determined to imitate what he'd just shown her. He gently corrected her grip and moved her fingers into the correct places. Patient with her inexperience in a way he had never been before.

Once she'd loaded the gun herself and closed the chamber (with hands that only trembled _a_ _little_), he directed her attention to the targets he'd set up on bales of hay nearby. He stood just behind her, corrected her posture and her stance, and showed her how to aim. And then he told her to fire.

Bang...Bang...Bang. BangBangBang.

She emptied the chamber into the black and white target pinned to the hay bale, and dutifully cleared the empty shells just as he'd just shown her. The pungent scent of gunpowder lingered in the air for just a moment.

As the adrenaline surged through her, Riza grinned and let out a shaky little laugh.

"Let's see how you've done," her father said. She started to follow him to the target, but froze at his sharp inhalation of breath. Oh god, was she terrible? Had she missed every shot? Would he let her try again? Give her just one more chance?

It was so strange. She'd never dreamed of picking up a weapon in her life, but suddenly she was petrified that he'd take it away from her.

Just as she opened her mouth to plead for another chance, her father turned back to her, and the proud expression on his face stopped her heart. He'd never _once_ looked at her like that before.

"Look at that. You're a natural, my girl." He showed her six little holes in the paper, all neatly clustered in the center circle of the target. "All right. Again."

They keep at the lesson until sunset. Berthold had four other guns besides the .38 they'd started with, and Riza showed the same innate proficiency for all of them. She hit every target, with fairly consistent accuracy, even when he moved her 20 feet further away from the targets. As they walked back to the house in the slowly fading light, she felt his eyes on her face again.

"Your mother would be proud," he said, so quietly that she thought for a moment she'd imagined it.

"My mother?" Riza repeated stupidly. They never talked about her mother.

"Yes. In fact, I think she would have wanted you to have these," he answered, with a small gesture to the box in his arms. "They were hers, you know." Riza was struck speechless once again.

"I—they—what?" Berthold bestowed one of his exceedingly rare smiles on his bewildered daughter.

"She was the one who taught _me_ to handle a gun, many years ago. And her father taught her when she was just a girl. Your mother was an excellent markswoman, and you appear to take after her in that respect. She would be proud of you."

"Oh," she managed. The dull ache of her old loss mingled with an odd, new, fierce joy bubbling in her chest. She stayed silent for another moment, and then she blurted out: "Thank you. For showing me. For teaching me."

"It brings me comfort," he said quietly. "Knowing that you are capable of looking after yourself. Of defending yourself. Knowing that, should anyone try anything once I am gone, they would not find you so easy a target as they might imagine."

"Yes, father," she said, even as a shiver ran down her spine. She wished she had more confidence in her ability to fend off potential intruders.

It occurred to her that her father had talked with her more in this one afternoon than he normally did in a month. And she wasn't sure what to do with that knowledge.

He stopped abruptly, so she did too. She looked up at him. Without a word, he reached out one hand and laid it on her cheek. Riza froze in shock at the unprecedented caress. Her father studied her face again, with the same intense, fiery stare.

"One day you will surprise even yourself, child," he said at length. "You are a survivor. You will endure, my lion-hearted girl." And with that, Berthold disappeared into the house, leaving Riza standing stunned in the garden.

* * *

**A.N. So, I handled and fired my very first gun recently. And I must say-it was _e__xhilarating_. Though nowhere near as good as Riza, I did kill my little target guy dead. Many times :D**

**Although I've marked this story as 'complete,' I might add to it later, if there's any interest. Feedback is, as always, very much appreciated!**

**xoxo Janie**


	2. Ready for the Fight

**Ready for the Fight**

* * *

It's not until several years later that Riza remembers her father's prediction.

She stands over his grave with tears on her face and heaviness in her heart. Roy has gone again, and this time her secrets (and her father's) have gone with him. They are not likely to meet again.

There is nothing for her here, now, but an empty house where ghosts roam the halls and memories whisper in the dark. Her father is dead, her best friend (and first love) has gone away, probably for good this time…and she's never felt less lion-hearted in her life.

No, right now, Riza feels small. Empty, alone, and frightened. She feels like a rabbit in the headlights of a speeding car, facing impending death with the overwhelming certainty that there is nothing she can do to stop it…nothing she can do to prevent the car from running her down and splattering her blood all across the pavement. Her heart is the heart of a rabbit, not a lion at all. And that knowledge shames her.

She had found solace, lately, in her target practice. Perhaps because it's something that makes her feel connected to her mother. Each time she pulls the trigger, she thinks of her father's words on that one autumn day: how her mother would be proud of her marksmanship. With every spent shell that falls to her feet, she imagines a proud smile on the soft features of the woman in the faded photographs she's jealously guarded all these years.

Deep down, Riza knows that it soothes her because it's the one thing in her life that she can control. She couldn't stop her mother from falling ill, she couldn't change Roy's mind about joining the army, and she couldn't prevent her father from sinking deeper and deeper into his obsession with flame alchemy. So maybe she can't stop people from leaving her behind… but she is always completely in control of her weapons. _She_ pulls the trigger, _she_ aims the barrel, and _she_ puts those neat little holes into her targets.

But for some reason, it hasn't helped today. She's still alone, still uncertain, and still empty. She's still been used and left behind by the two men she loves the most. Sacrificed and abandoned. And God, how she misses them both.

Lion heart. Why had her father called her a lion heart? And how is she supposed to be brave when she all she can think about is how _frightened_ she is?

She's still pondering lions and rabbits later than night as she cleans and services her weapons. So focused are her thoughts, that at first she doesn't hear the quiet rattling of the doorknob. She does, however, notice the sound of metal grating in the lock. She's on her feet with the old revolver in hand before the intruder finishes picking the cheap lock. When the door swings open on rusty hinges, she's waiting with her gun at the ready.

"I suggest you turn right back around, unless you'd like a hole in your head," she states, cool and calm.

"Agh! Oh my god, I thought…Miss Hawkeye? Is that you?" Startled to hear a vaguely familiar voice, Riza lowers her weapon. "It's me, Will Collins!" the intruder says, holding his hands up obligingly.

"Mr. Collins?" she repeats, instantly even more suspicious. A former student of her father's, she remembers.

He'd been one of what she liked to call the 'charming' types. Though she held the key to her father's alchemic secrets _now_, she hadn't always. She'd never even learned the basics of alchemy. The 'charmers' didn't know this, of course, and they assumed that a little flirting with the teacher's daughter would grant them quicker access to the secrets Berthold withheld from them. They seemed to think any girl would fall at their feet and betray her own flesh and blood for the sake of a rakish smile and wink.

"Hey, hi there," Collins begins. "I, uh, I just thought…I mean, the house looked empty, and since I'd come all this way, I just thought I'd stop in…" he stammers, obviously trying to come up with a cover story.

"You broke into my home in the middle of the night because you just happened to be in the area?" she says, incredulous. Nice to know some things haven't changed—Collins is still an idiot.

"Well, when you say it like that, it makes me sound like a sneak thief," he says, winking at her. She resists the urge to roll her eyes, but only because she doesn't dare take them off this creep for even a second.

"Yes, because clearly someone who's just picked the lock on a house that belongs to their recently deceased former teacher has only honorable intentions," she says drily. "Why are you here, Mr. Collins?"

"Please, call me Will, Miss Hawkeye. There's no need to stand on ceremony with me. We're old friends!"

Oh, that's rich, Riza thinks, considering that he doesn't even know _her_ first name. She wonders if he's even aware of how stupid he sounds.

"No, we're really not," she says firmly. "Now please leave."

"You wouldn't throw a man out on a night like this, would you? It's freezing out there! Have a heart, Miss Hawkeye. I came all this way to, um, pay my respects!" he exclaims, in a sudden burst of inspiration. "Yeah, I came to pay my respects to my old sensei, and thought maybe I could just stay the night. You know, since hotels are so expensive, and I did come all the way out here…" and he grins at her in a way she supposes is meant to be seductive.

Suddenly, Riza understands why her father had stared so hard at her before teaching her to handle a gun. He'd _anticipated_ this.

"You heard my father died and you assumed he'd left his research notes just lying around, so you broke in to look for them," she states, unmoved. This idiot Collins had probably forgotten Riza even _existed_, if he'd assumed that the house would be empty. Otherwise he'd have knocked instead of picking the lock.

"What, no, no! I'd never do that!" he says quickly. He's a terrible liar. Losing patience, she raises her weapon again.

"Mr. Collins, you are not welcome here. Please leave now. Don't make me ask again." He laughs heartily at that, finally dropping the innocent act.

"And why should I? I haven't got what I came here for, you know." He takes a step closer to her, his cheerful features hardening into a threatening mask.

"There is nothing here for you," she says, trying to sound confident. "Walk away now, and I won't shoot you."

"Please, a sweet little thing like you is going to shoot me? You're bluffing. I bet that thing isn't even loaded," he scoffs.

"Keep standing there; you'll soon find out."

"You don't have the guts," he sneers. And that's the last straw.

_I don't have the guts? _ She thinks, rage bubbling to the surface._ And just how the hell would you even know that? You know NOTHING about me, you self-centered moron!_ And the lioness within her roars.

Riza takes quick and careful aim, and fires. Collins screams as the bullet tears through the strap of the satchel he'd had dangling from his shoulder. It falls to the ground, and the contents spill out onto his feet as he gibbers in terror.

"That was your final warning. Get. Out. Of. My. _House_," she snarls, through clenched teeth.

She should probably thank him, she thinks with amusement as he scrambles to collect his things and trips over his own feet. If Collins hadn't challenged her like this, she might never have realized that she possessed the lion heart her father had seen in her all those years ago.

"Feel free to pass the information along, Mr. Collins," she says lightly as he lurches for the door with a white face. "My father already chose his successor. There is nothing here for the rest of you. Do I make myself clear?" She's not sure whether he even hears her, as he scrambles across the hardwood floor to reach for the door, but it doesn't really matter.

They will learn soon enough not to mess with Riza Hawkeye. She's not quite the east target they'd imagined. And she's not afraid anymore.

* * *

**A.N. Experimenting with tenses in this installment. Thoughts? Bonus points if you can guess what song inspired this chapter. :D**

**xoxo Janie**


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